Shards of an Inquisition
by enid.lee
Summary: Series of fun or serious one-shots, chronicling the adventures and relationships of our lady Inquisitor and her friends. Not in order, posted according to inspiration and whim. Please review! :) Credit for story image to Gamespot
1. Those Who are Devilish and in Denial

The celebration, though fleeting, was essential for morale. The Inquisitor had once again returned victorious, and those gathered around her light rose up in mutual joy to revel in the possibility for hope. Herald of Andraste, the Chosen One, she had emerged from chaos and terror and united them all. Watching her now in front of the fire, Cullen felt both at once pleased and troubled for her, worried over the burden she carried and what was to come.

The courtyard was alive with the sounds of music and laughter; firelight danced and played against the rise of Skyhold's proud walls, which were steadily being restored under Josephine's stern supervision. From here, one could catch scents of the stables, where the nuttiness of hay was rarely soured by shit or dirt, and instead Cullen could enjoy the softness of horse hair and straw being carried to him on the wind. He could hear the animals chuffing and snorting – they were probably disturbed by the presence of those overgrown lizards, Dracolisks that the Inquisitor had been so excited to find. He supposed they were useful in the desert climes, where their scaly claws gripped better in the sand and they seemed unbothered by either the glaring sun or the harsh, dry winds, but they still gave him (as his sister would have said) "the Jeepers." Thinking of his family now made him wistful, because it had occurred to him as of late that this ragtag bunch of strangers were beginning to approach something not far off.

The Inquisitor – Ana – sat between Iron Bull and Varric, both leaning in and laughing as they spoke to her. Cassandra smiled eagerly nearby, trying to be a part of the joke, and Cullen felt a stab of affection for her. The Seeker was, without a doubt, one of the most imposing people he had ever met, but she had a streak of innocence that was endearing, even vulnerable. Leliana had deigned to retire from her Perch, as he liked to call it, and was circulating the outskirts of the party, always smiling, but always watching too.

Josephine, of course, was fussing. Cullen shook his head; he could not imagine what the Inquisition would be like without their anxious Antivan friend, but even he thought she could benefit from some relaxation. Solas was nowhere to be seen; not surprising, really. He so rarely took an interest in personal pursuits, and seemed only to materialize when there was useful work to be done. Even Bull, who was supposed to be a taciturn Qunari, was better at socializing.

Sera was leering over the edge of one of the roofs. Cullen might be mistaken, but he had a sneaking suspicion she was about to pour or dump something onto the crowd below. He considered stopping her, but decided against it. Either it would come to nothing, or she might finally get her comeuppance and stop attempting to treat every waking moment as an opportunity to lark. Sighing, he had to admit the possibility of discouraging Sera from tomfoolery was extremely low. He made a mental note to check his desk for traps later; knowing Sera, she had taken advantage of everyone's gathering into one spot and visited their private rooms in their absence.

Vivienne was circulating carefully among the nobles present; those who had been drawn to Ana's growing reputation and all the possible privileges that may come with it. Cullen did not exactly dislike the First Enchanter, and yet there was something fundamental about her he didn't trust. She, like many who had joined the Inquisition, had her own reasons for being here. That alone was enough to give Cullen pause; he wondered what would come of the charming relationship she had with the Inquisitor should their objectives experience a parting of the ways.

Blackwall drew Cullen's attention as he joined the others at the fire. Many were burning tonight to accommodate the swell of guests eager to celebrate, but Ana still enjoyed some privacy from the clamor by gathering off to one side with her friends. Cullen hesitated as he watched Blackwall's beard shift under the influence of his smile; Ana smiled back and said something, and Blackwall laughed. Cullen had wanted to go over there, to join them, but something held him back. He was always present when the Inquisitor needed him, always ready to do the work she asked of him, but whenever they were alone, he became uncomfortable…. And yet, on a night like this, when she had once again escaped death and disaster by the edges of her nails, he longed to tuck her away somewhere safe and only with him. This is what stopped him from sitting with her as the others did; he could not risk being impertinent.

Iron Bull was gesturing, his mouth quirked in a smile, and Ana smiled back, her eyes alight with humor. Her dark hair, usually braided out of the way, was loose in waves that rippled down her shoulder. Her skin was glowing from exposure to the western sun, and her blue eyes were as clear as a pool of water. Varric was beginning to laugh again; his shoulders shook with mirth, and Ana's full lips parted to stretch wide as she listened to end of Bull's story, her teeth white and straight underneath. She was so beautiful; magic lived in every part of her being, made her something more than anyone he had ever known. She was a lady of parts, as his father would have said, kind to a fault; brave; and fiercely intelligent – but fragile too. Her family, the Trevelyans, had been relieved she survived the Conclave, but had declined Josephine's offer of safe passage for a visit. It became apparent that, though her father did not wish her dead, it made him deeply ashamed he had produced a being of magic and, in so doing, earned the Maker's disdain. Horse rubbish, of course, but the Trevelyans were nothing if not pious, and so they ignored their daughter as much as could be socially accepted.

Cullen felt angry thinking of their rejection, and so he tried to focus on something else. The curve of her smile; the line of her neck, long and swan-like; her small shoulders; the shadow in her clavicle, which sat above the soft cotton of her neckline. A chain glittered there, disappearing underneath the fabric, shifting when she moved. Her hands gestured emphatically as she nodded, speaking quickly to the others, her lips pink and her eyes bright. Cullen became transfixed, remembering times they had spoken together, her concentration in the war room – her fierceness in battle. He remembered her screaming with rage in Redcliffe when a rebel mage hurt a little boy and the fire she released as she threw herself protectively in front of the villagers. And she had been so tender when healing the wounded alongside Mother Giselle that night, her cheeks dirty and her armor stained, but without ever seeming to tire, working into the wee hours of the morning.

"She is a beauty, our Inquisitor."

The sound of the Tevinter's fulsome tone was unwelcome; Cullen's lip nearly curled. Dorian saw this and chuckled.

"My dear Templar, you have nothing to fear from me. I'll behave myself, so long as I am in your presence."

"What you do is of no consequence to me," Cullen replied shortly, unconsciously assuming a protective stance; his legs spread out slightly, and his arms crossed. Dorian watched the Commander's tell – it was no wonder he was such a poor card player – and smirked silently. This was going to be _very _easy.

"Why not go over there and actually speak to her, Commander? Or are you afraid you'd say something _inappropriate?_" Dorian laced the last word with a layer of unwholesome meaning. Cullen glared at him.

"I," he replied coolly, "Haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about."

Dorian nodded sagely, "Oh, I'm sure. It is so easy, isn't it? The attraction you have to her? Well, I can hardly blame you."

Cullen ignored him, his cheeks becoming hot in the darkness.

"She struck me as cold at first – her noble training, I thought, but then I realized she was _shy!_ Imagine my surprise; the Herald of Andraste was modest!"

While Dorian chortled, Cullen began to experience a strange sort of humming in his veins. He didn't like Dorian talking about the Inquisitor, and certainly not with such irreverence.

As if oblivious to this, Dorian continued. "And then to watch her fighting, the way she rabble-rouses – she could probably give Maferath himself a few lessons! Although, I suppose that would be Andraste's bag more than his, wouldn't it? Getting people stirred up to a cause? She certainly was effective at it, and so is our Ana."

Cullen gritted his teeth, "If you please, leave me be. I have to… guard the party perimeter." This last part was muttered irritably, his face glowing in betrayal of the lie. Dorian laughed out loud this time.

"Please! My dear Commander, it is obvious to anyone you object to my speaking of her with such familiarity. But, why should you, if you do not care for her?" Dorian was sly now, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

Cullen's jaw tensed visibly under his effort to restrain himself from retorting; he was not a child and he would not be baited into a quarrel by a flamboyant, arrogant peacock who couldn't be trusted as far as a man could throw him. And Cullen was dearly tempted to test that distance personally.

Dorian sighed, looking back at the Inquisitor with affection. "She is a rare sort of person; I often wonder after her welfare, you know. It is the job of a friend, after all, to ensure his friends' happiness. And she has done much to help me, so there must be something I can do for her. What do you think would be a good present?"

Cullen snorted at this; as if Dorian were really asking him such a question. He wanted something else, and Cullen would not give it to him. "Why do you not speak to someone else of this?" Cullen replied curtly, not meeting the mage's keen eyes. "Would a woman not provide better council on such matters?"

Dorian tutted, "Commander! What a silly question. Women, bless them, have such a limited _scope_. No, they would tell me to surprise her with flowers, or jewelry or – if they were of sounder judgment – a new stave. But what a woman truly needs is competent, thoughtful _companionship_."

This last word rung with unsaid meaning, and it burned Cullen's ears. "And what do you mean by that?" he snapped, goaded in spite of himself.

Dorian became idle with speculation; "Oh, I don't know," he said thoughtfully, pushing out his lower lip so that his mustache seemed absurdly pronounced. "Being the Inquisitor must be so lonely; elevated to near Godhood, seen as an arm of the Maker. It is one thing to have friends upon which you can rely to support you, but look at how they all speak to her. With such eagerness! Such admiration! Whom does she have to simply be human with? To be just _Ana?_"

For once, Cullen paused in his seething to consider the question. Dislike Dorian though he might, what he had said held merit. Cullen saw Ana's life with new eyes and appreciated clearly one of the things that had been bothering him: he desired closeness to Ana, sought to be her protector, because she seemed so constantly alone. Despite being surrounded by those who fought for and beside her, she was separated from them as if by a veil and Cullen worried about what this could mean. Would she sacrifice herself unnecessarily to see them all safe? Would she do only what she thought was right, set apart by the hand of Destiny? _No_ – he couldn't lose her.

Dorian watched the Commander's anxiety grow and waited, giving him time to come to a better understanding of his own feelings. Honestly, men could be so slow! Dorian looked upon the Inquisitor, his gaze softening. _You owe me_, he thought tenderly.

When the time seemed ripe, Dorian forged on; "You know, the answer seems simple, doesn't it?"

Cullen seemed to return his attention to the other man with difficulty; "What do you mean, Dorian?"

"Well, why not me?" Dorian exclaimed with a sweeping of his hands. "I'm a mage, just as she is, and _devilishly_ handsome to boot. We'd make an excellent pairing; think of it, even my parents might approve! She's both a Trevelyan and the head of the Inquisition; they could grow rather heady on that kind of power."

In the flickering light of the bonfires and torches, Cullen's face suddenly looked ugly. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I wouldn't despoil her," Dorian agreed in a lofty voice. "We'd have to be married first."

As suddenly as a viper's kiss, Cullen's fist was wrapped around Dorian's throat. Though the Tevinter mage had been expecting this, he had underestimated the pain of Cullen's strength once directed with such hostility against his person.

"Cullen! _Cullen!"_

Ana had come running, her eyes wide with shock. Dorian grunted, his hands wrapped around the Commander's arm as his feet dangled uselessly beneath him. Before Cullen could suffocate him, Dorian issued a slight shock of electricity and the Templar let him go, hissing.

Both men were breathing hard, though for very different reasons, when Ana reached them.

"What in name of Andraste's holy pants is going on here?!" Ana looked between the two of them with her hands on her hips, emanating disapproval. Cullen bowed his head, ashamed, while Dorian rallied for swagger.

"Nothing we couldn't handle, my dear," he tried to reassure her. Ana's glare immediately disgraced him into silence. He tried to look suitably penitent.

Ana looked at her Commander, one eyebrow quirked; "Cullen?"

Struggling, Cullen replied in broken, short bursts. "I'm… sorry… There is…. No excuse, your Worship."

Ana made an impatient noise, "Don't call me that! Why were you fighting each other?"

The two men exchanged a look and did not immediately answer.

"I… insulted our commander unintentionally. My apologies, Ser." Dorian bent into a flowery bow, one hand extended. Cullen bowed his head once more in return.

"It is I who should be sorry, Dorian. I…. should not have lost my temper."

"This is a celebration, Cullen," Ana told him reproachfully, "Why would you do this?"

Dorian started; no, this wasn't what he had meant at all. "Ana – " he began.

"And you," Ana turned to him, eyes burning, "Shouldn't have been causing trouble." Dorian's mouth clapped shut as if glued and he said nothing, feeling truly shamed this time.

"No more fighting," she told them both, and stalked off, her shoulders hunched angrily. Bull approached them.

"I don't know what you two got into, but you sure have pissed of the Boss." And he went after her, shaking his horned head in amusement.

"Good work, men! You really know how to ruin a wonderful party!" Varric called cheerily; Cassandra shook her head at both of them with disgust.

"Maker's Breath," Cullen muttered, looking miserable. Dorian decided not to worry; with a friendly clap on Cullen's shoulder, he prepared to join the party.

"Well, at least we're in the kennels together, my friend. And, there is one good thing to come of this. Actually, now that I think about it, there are two."

"And what is that?" Cullen asked sourly.

"You're out of denial and I am free to flirt with that charming young soldier over there," Dorian nodded pointedly at a man who was skirting the edges of the party with a nervous expression on his handsome face. Cullen spun on Dorian, flabbergasted.

"Oh yes, didn't I mention that?" Dorian asked as he suppressed a grin, "I prefer men. It really prevents me from marrying dear Ana and keeping her happy, but I suppose that just means someone else will have to do it."

And with an elegant shrug, Dorian departed and Cullen stared after him, thinking Tevinters really were evil bastards after all.


	2. A Little Legend

_Andraste's tits_, Varric thought dolefully. He just couldn't get the wording right.

He crumpled up the parchment and lobbed it to join a pack of fellows by the fireplace. The long dining table flickered dully with the fire's light, which climbed up and illuminated the glass of a decanter filled with brandy. Varric sipped idly from his tumbler, which he had been careful not to empty just yet, as he contemplated what precisely was eluding him as he tried to write this story.

There was, of course, the grandness of it all – how could he fit in all the details, when every single one of them fought for the position of best place? As he so often told his friend the Inquisitor, her life was full to the brim with the weirdest, most grandiose shit he'd ever seen in his life. And he had followed Hawke around for almost ten years.

Varric tried to trace back to the point when he had decided he _needed _to write this story. Had it been when they had first come to Skyhold, and Ana had shakily raised that sword into the air over an exultant crowd? Had it been when he'd watched, incredulous to his very bones, as Ana jumped nimbly over the back of a giant on the rocky shores of the Storm Coast and bashed it over the head with her stave? Or maybe he had concluded he could no longer ignore the itch in his hand when he saw her expose the Empress' cousin in front of the entire Imperial court, her outfit bloodstained, but her demeanor cool?

No – it went even further back. Varric closed his eyes as he remembered, trying vainly to ignore the shiver that went up his spine as the sensations of that time came roaring back with absolute clarity. The panic of everyone as they realized what was coming, filling the cool air with screams as sharp as the blades that battled each other in the fields, their metal flashing brightly from the shock of a white moon and burning fires. The contrast between the crunch of snow and the smell of smoke, acrid and dark, as more and more of Haven went up in flames. The horror of seeing the Red Templars descend upon the village, their very skin hissing with forbidden power, their claws melting anything they touched from the taint of red lyrium.

They had been humming with terror and determination when they finally reached the last catapult. Ana had run to it, unseeing of other dangers, when the roar of Corypheus' archdemon shook the ground under their feet. Varric had heard the Bull shouting – "_Run!_" – and then was splayed on the ground, spluttering as he tried to catch his breath, grasping for Bianca in the snow. Bull had pulled up him and begun running away, followed with some difficulty by Cullen, Cassandra, and Dorian, the latter of whom was being forcibly pulled by the Commander and Seeker as he struggled to return to Ana, who was screaming with agony at Corypheus' feet. At the sound of her voice shattering the silence at the very top of the mountains, Cullen had released the Tevinter mage and drawn his blade as if to run to her. Cassandra had managed to stop him.

"No!" she cried, her voice almost lost in the explosion of Haven burning and terrible winds. "She is doing this to save us! We must honor her sacrifice and get the others to safety!"

Cullen hesitated, but then nodded, sheathing his sword slowly. Varric had managed to disentangle himself from Bull's grip and run forward, trying to get one last glance of Ana's face.

It was as if she had heard him, despite the vast expanse that already separated their bodies. Ana, who had been so shy she seemed barely able to speak when he first met her. Ana, who had cried when she saw the burning, twisted bodies of the dead mages and templars who perished at the Conclave. Ana, who had laughed until she spat ale out of her nose at one of Bull's stories. Her dark hair was whipping in the wind, and she was gripping the hand which bore the Fade mark tightly, its light pulsating unnaturally bright. Corypheus had stood directly above her, huge and distorted by his sin, his lip pulled in a disgusted sneer as he regarded his foe. Ana had been doubled-up in agony only moments before, but as Corypheus paused in his assault against her, she looked up at him again, her eyes sharp with anger. At that exact moment, Ana looked at Varric square in the eye, her face free of fear.

He couldn't hear what she said next, but it must have been impressive, because Corypheus picked her up and threw her like a ragdoll through the air. Cullen wrapped one arm around the dwarf's waist and hauled him through the gates into Haven, the whole group moving in a blur as they led the survivors through the underground tunnel beneath the Chantry and out to safety. At the top of the path, Cole had supported Roderick as he led the faithful out of the fire and into the cold. As they gained distance, an almighty crash echoed back to them, and all watched in horror from above as a small figure and Haven were swallowed up in the galloping white landslide.

It wouldn't have been much of a story if Ana had died. It was a hard truth of life, but people spoke rarely of those who had been left behind so abruptly. The horror of having so nearly joined them left people with stiff, tight lips unable to voice their fear. However much those who had joined the Inquisition would have been grateful to Ana in the days following her loss, her sacrifice would have been eclipsed by the question of what came next, and how to survive.

But that wasn't the end for Ana. And he was finally coming to his point.

It was that moment, when destitution reigned with an iron fist over their aching, shocked bodies as they settled into a camp. The mountains swelled up on all sides, their darkness severe against the sea of white, and everyone struggled to find their place. Cullen had rallied some soldiers with Cassandra to search for the Herald, but it seemed in vain. Night had long ago fallen, and the fires they lit barely kept at bay the cold seeping into their bones, a cold born less of atmosphere and more of hearts iced over with disbelief.

It was after hours of weary silence, of wracking sobs and hopeless tears, when the sun began to rise. Without speaking, everyone turned to watch the birth of a new day, not greeting it with any particular enthusiasm. They were alive, but only barely, and many were hurt. Untold scores had been lost in Haven, and the figure around which their entire cause had rallied was dead. Even Vivienne was unable to hide her tremors, her full lips dripping with the tracks of her tears. Varric sat nearest to the path leading back, his eyes straying every so often, as if hoping something miraculous would appear there.

Then, just as the sun began peeking flirtatiously over the edge of the southern mountain, a dim little figure stumbled into view. Varric remembered standing up so quickly it was as though he had not consciously done it, his mouth slackening in awe. Cullen had kept watch closest to the path back to Haven, but even he had begun to nod off with exhaustion. At the site of the outline that emerged over the cresting hilltop, his alertness returned, and he stood straight, his crossed arms dropping to his sides.

She staggered to her left, then righted herself, pausing as if to adjust to the light. The sun shot upward into the sky, rising in a glowing accolade to her return, directly over the Herald's head as if to highlight her appearance. When Ana slid a few feet forward, then stopped, Cullen began to yell.

"IT'S HER! THE HERALD HAS RETURNED!"

Cassandra was beside him in an instant, Varric only slightly behind. Ana stared at them all, her lips blue with cold, before doing something Varric would never forget as long as he lived.

Ana took one look at Varric's white face rushing towards her; she was bent slightly at the waist, obviously in pain, gripping a broken arm and wincing against a cut whose blood had long since dried against her pale cheek. But when she saw them coming towards her, whole and intact, Ana broke out into an exhausted smile. It glowed as brightly as the sun, and then she whispered her first words as the Chosen One, right before collapsing into Cullen's open arms.

"Thank the Maker."

That's was when Varric had known he had to immortalize her. When he knew the events of the Inquisition could not go unrecorded. It wasn't because it was too incredible and he had to get everything down before people forgot and stopped believing any of it. It wasn't because having a firsthand account of the Inquisition would have him rolling in golden sovereigns for the rest of his damn life, as people begged for signed copies of his book, _The True Story of Andraste's Herald_. No, it was that damn look on Ana's face when she saw them. It was how she had looked at Corypheus when she thought she was going to die to save them. It was how long she had walked to come back.

Varric picked up his quill and sighed. First Hawke, and now Ana Trevelyan. These amazing women with their crazy, outlandish adventures were either going to be the death of him, or the greatest stories he ever told. Varric grinned, and began writing.


	3. I Choose the Mountain

_A/N: Title based upon the poem by Howard Simon._

* * *

><p>The evening was fair, with a light breeze that played like waves over the ramparts of Skyhold. Ana stared over the jagged landscape of the mountains feeling the caress of spring on her skin and hair as she tried to breathe deeply, for life had become twisted and irrational and it was all she could do to remain calm.<p>

The Inquisitor considered her path before this, disturbed by recent discoveries. The Fade had been jarring, unwelcome in its strangeness, an amorphous violation of all things whole and sane. Being there had frightened all of them, but it had been enlightening too. Taking another deep breath, Ana closed her eyes, trying without success to block the images still so vivid in her mind.

_It was you. _You _saved me_.

A tear fell, unbidden, in a soft trail down her cheek. Ana wiped it hastily away.

The Divine; well, it had not actually been the Divine herself, but she had known enough to tell Ana the full truth. Ana once again could recall those bewildering, terrifying moments following the opening of the Breach. Climbing with all her strength, her chest heaving, up a cliff in the Fade as she and the Divine were pursued by demons. The Divine's papery hand in hers as she tugged to pull the older woman up with her; the clicking of the demons' pincers as they pursued them; their blank, shining eyes. Ana could finally find reason in that haze of confusion that had come before, when she could summon nothing to ease the minds of those left questioning. How had she survived? Where had she come from? Had she truly been liberated from death by Andraste herself?

Another swell of emotion made Ana sob quietly; no, it had not been Andraste, but a human woman of superb courage. Ana saw, though she tightly closed her lids against the visual assault, Divine Justinia's peacefully resigned expression as she let go of Ana's outstretched hand. She had so easily released any hope of her own salvation as she gently pushed Ana towards the rip in the Fade, her lips quirking slightly in a smile before she was violently torn away. Before Ana could do more than cry out an unintelligible protest, she had been sucked back to the world of the living, and knew no more.

Shuddering against her grief, Ana looked upon the mountains, and embraced a gratitude as great as the sky for the Divine's sacrifice. She prayed only that she would live to earn it; that she would do the woman's choice justice.

Evening was finally upon them; the last of Cullen's soldiers had made their return march weary, but satisfied. The Grey Wardens had submitted to their cause, although they had no leader to guide them. When faced with the choice between Stroud and Ryia Hawke, Ana had seen no contest. She felt guilty for Stroud's death, but also knew who they could afford to spare in the face of what was to come.

That was something Iron Bull had said to Ana before she became Inquisitor: "A leader isn't the strongest, the smartest, or the most connected. They're the one willing to make the hard decisions, and live with them." She knew he was right, but the responsibility weighed no less upon her for her understanding.

Rubbing her arms against the slight chill that still lingered in the air, Ana moved further down the ramparts to head to her quarters. She had checked in with Josephine in the war room, and had been all but shoved out as Josephine told her to rest. "This is what we are here for, my lady," she had told Ana firmly. "We will review the outcomes of this battle and give you the highlights – once you have _rested._" Ana shook her head for probably the twentieth time; whatever gave Josephine the idea she could sleep on a night like this?

Brimming with emotion, adrenaline, and the shock of revelation, Ana was no better fit to sleep than Cullen during one of his spells of lyrium withdrawal. Ana had sat with him more than once as he struggled to resist the little blue bottle he kept in his desk – just in case – and watched him struggle against his demons. Sometimes, he became delirious. On those occasions, it would take the combined strength of her and Cassandra to calm him down enough to sleep. Ana tried to avoid giving him a sleeping draught when she could, fearful of further destabilizing his body, but when it became too much she would send him deep into the Fade, away from what haunted him in consciousness.

Ana would give much at this moment to experience the same kind of blissful release – the cool darkness of nothing, where her mind and heart might finally be at ease. But something kept stopping her from seeking out Dorian or Solas for this kind of help. As much as she wanted to retreat from these feelings, she also felt she must bear them with pride, for they distinguished her as Corypheus' greatest enemy. Pain, struggle, gratitude – these all were a threat to Corypheus and his ilk, for they confessed humility, kindness, and human fragility. That which was lost to Corypheus forever gave her the strength to stand against him, and so she tried most of all to feel pride, and to be the woman the Divine gave her the chance to become.

Wrestling with these thoughts, Ana became aware her feet had carried her the long way around to the courtyard, and saw that the lights in Cullen's study were still on. She hesitated for but a moment, but then made up her mind, and marched purposefully forward.

The door was cracked ajar when she reached it; Ana paused to listen for conversation within, and sure enough heard Cullen issuing a bullet list of commands to Inquisition soldiers. After some murmured clarification, the men were dismissed, exiting at the other side to reach the front of the fortress. When Ana was sure he was alone, she knocked.

"Enter!" Cullen called, his voice laced with tiredness. Ana obeyed.

The room was glowing softly from candles low to their wicks. Cullen bent over a map on his desk, his forehead wrinkled. The map had been pored over so many times, its edges no longer curled, the animal skin wrinkled in places. Cullen's face was drawn with stress, dark circles making half-moons under his hazel eyes, and he did not immediately look up when she joined him. By the time he did, he was so surprised to see who it was he almost caused her to jump with him.

"Ana!" he exclaimed, a hand compulsively rising as if to salute. Cullen suppressed the reflex and adjusted awkwardly, attempting to mask the strange jerk of his hand by brushing his fingers on briefly against his chest. His hair, though normally in perfect shape, was standing slightly on end. There was stubble shadowing his jaw, and his traveling clothes were careworn. Ana raised her hand in concern, as if to touch him.

"I mean," Cullen corrected, clearing his throat, "Your Worship, I – "

"Cullen," Ana sighed, exasperated, "How many times must I tell you _not _to call me that? Especially now," this part was almost whispered, memories once again flashing across her mind. Cullen winced, then nodded.

"Of course, I'm sorry, I just – it's a habit of mine, to be formal. I meant no disrespect, my lady."

Ana grinned wryly; "'My lady' is little improvement, but I suppose it must do for now. How are your men?"

Cullen smiled back, somewhat chagrined by her words. "They are far better for the work you did on the demons in Adamant Fortress, my lady. We would have lost many more of them were it not for your dedication."

"I did not fight alone," Ana replied impatiently, moving away to study the books on the shelves lining the study's walls. Honestly, why was everyone trying to make her out to be so damn special?!

"No," Cullen agreed in a measured tone, watching her restless pacing. "But you made the call that saved their lives and I am grateful." Cullen bowed slightly at the waist to acknowledge her; in lieu of a smile, Ana grimaced.

She wanted to produce a suitable response to this, but it was proving more and more difficult to be proper as of late. Everyone kept looking at her with increasing reverence, as if she was slowly transforming into Andraste herself, and it made Ana unspeakably uncomfortable. She was just a woman, after all. A human; a mage; she was as vulnerable as the rest of them. Had she not bled when cut by her foe's blade? Had she not slept, and eaten, and drank in their presence? But her weaknesses seemed of little consequence; now, when she knew for certain her fortune had not been shaped by the hand of some God, this increasing worship of her troubled Ana beyond endurance.

"What can I help you with, my lady?" Cullen had not interrupted her thoughts; he had watched Ana pace aimlessly through the room, her eyes darting as if cornered, her full lip cut by the edge of white teeth that chewed nervously on the flesh beneath them.

"Nothing, I – " Ana stopped abruptly by his desk, laying one hand atop the map and sighing. Cullen saw her exhaustion, but she hummed with suppressed energy and he knew she did not speak the truth. Hesitantly, he rounded the desk towards her, reaching out one hand to touch her shoulder.

"Come now, something has upset you. I can guess what, considering the number of choices before me, so it will be much easier if you share your thoughts with me."

Ana studied him for a moment and then looked away, her expression torn. She wondered if Cullen really meant his offer, or if he would be disappointed in her – let down by her fear. Cullen tried to coax her.

"Please, my lady – " When Ana's head jerked back, Cullen knew he had said the wrong thing. For a moment, his brain scrambled to think of a solution and, as if in slow motion, he saw Ana both physically and emotionally pulling away. Suddenly, it came to him.

"Ana," he blurted, "Ana, tell me what's wrong. I'll listen."

Ana paused; her hand had come up to remove his from her shoulder. The skin of her fingers – still soft despite months of camping and battle – lingered over his. Cullen waited, hoping he had salvaged the situation. After what seemed an eternity, Ana lowered her hand, brushing Cullen's on the way down. Cullen inhaled sharply; with effort, he pulled his hand back to his side, jaw clenching. Ana did not seem to notice.

"I – " Ana gulped for air, then tried again. "I feel so… overwhelmed. Did Leliana or Cassandra tell you what the Divine showed me?"

Cullen nodded; he had been as shocked as the others to discover that it was Divine Justinia, not Andraste, who had saved Ana from the Fade. That it was mere chance and error which led to Ana becoming the Herald of Andraste and that, if the Maker had any part in the events at hand, he had been careful to mask himself from view.

Ana moved away again, her arms unconsciously crossing as she huddled into a self-protective pose. "I can't believe it and yet, it makes sense. I never believed I was the tool of the Maker, not really, but…."

Cullen tried to follow her without appearing threatening; gently, he turned her around. She would not meet his eyes; "But what, Ana?"

Reluctantly, Ana dragged her eyes up to his. "Everyone seems to be counting not only on me, but the idea that I _am _Andraste's Herald. Now, a good few of them know I'm not. How will I ever gain their faith again? How can I live up to what they want from me? And, worst of all…." Ana closed her eyes, unable to bear his reaction, "What if I don't _want _to be some bloody saint? What if I just want to be me?"

It was so long before Cullen replied, Ana cracked open one eye to see if he had frozen with distaste, or become so angry he couldn't speak – but what she saw was not repulsion or disappointment, but sympathy.

"Ana," he said softly, "You _are _you - that is what makes you so unique."

Ana was surprised enough to open both eyes; "What do you mean?"

Cullen fidgeted, then sighed. His hands, so large they were like paws, still rested on her upper arms. They were very warm, and Ana relaxed a little, relieved he hadn't left or started shouting, and that he was so close. Her gladness made her flush, and then she flushed again, but for a slightly different reason. Ana tried to concentrate on what Cullen said next.

"You're right; there are those here who look to you for evidence of the Maker. Many have joined our cause because they want to see a sign in you of Heaven – they hope they are not abandoned after all. But faith only carries a leader so far. You have kept so many by your side not because of Andraste, but because of who _you _are."

Grumbling, Ana asked, "Oh? And who is that?"

Cullen paused, considering her. The intimacy of his close examination made her blush even more deeply. It was her turn to fidget.

"You are kind," he replied decisively. "Fair, honest. You have a terrible temper, but you work not to let it turn your head when you need to be sensible. You care for others more than yourself, and you would give your life to protect someone if it would save them. People are drawn to you because you listen to them and understand how they feel. I have never known anyone to be so generous with themselves, not even the Champion. And when you make up your mind, you're determined. Nothing gets in your way - your enemies cross you at their peril. You are the strongest woman I know."

Ana was speechless; no one had ever paid her such an amazing compliment. "Thank you," she spluttered finally, at a loss for what to say. Cullen shook his head.

"You never need thank me for telling the truth, Ana."

There was a moment of warmth between them, then it was abruptly ruptured by awkwardness. Cullen's hands seemed to lower as if too heavy to hold up anymore, and he turned slightly away, coughing with embarrassment.

"You have no idea," Ana murmured, lashes lowered, "How much it means that you don't think less of me for feeling this way." She forced herself to stare directly into his gaze, which seemed to burn her as he watched back.

"How could I?" He asked, his voice deeper than usual. "You have done nothing but protect and lead us through this madness. You deserve nothing more than my absolute respect."

For Ana, this broke the moment. She winced as if slapped, then chuckled ruefully. "Respect," she murmured. She could think of other words people had used when speaking of how they felt towards her; _reverence_; _admiration; fear_. These were feelings of depth and distance, placing her upon a pedestal she did not deserve. Ana moved as if to leave.

"Have I offended you?" Cullen asked, appalled. Ana shook her head, but her mood had changed utterly, and she appeared near tears.

"Ana," he said desperately, not knowing what to do. Cullen thought of Dorian's endless baiting and hated himself; _You love her_, Dorian had said more than once. _Why not just admit it?_

This was the reason why! Because he could not bear to cause her pain or discomfort. What if his affections were a burden to her? What if he only got in her way?

Ana had begun to curl in on herself again and Cullen recognized this gesture as pain – she was trying to shield it from him. He felt hot with shame; he had injured her somehow and he did not know how to fix it.

"Ana, please," he begged. "I'll do anything you ask to mend what I have broken."

Ana seemed unable to answer him; one delicate hand rose to cover her face and, without further thought, Cullen went to her and wrapped her in his arms, catching her before she fell.

_This happened once before_, he thought briefly. The image of her, broken and exhausted, collapsing into his embrace after Haven, flashed before his eyes. _Though you do not bleed, you are hurting_. Determination filled him with purpose. _I will mend it._

Ana cried into his shoulder, gently tugging as if to pull away, but Cullen would not allow it. "No," he told her firmly, surprising even himself. "You are _not_ alone, Ana. I care for you and whatever you are feeling, you can share it with me now."

Ana struggled briefly, but Cullen held fast, reviewing his earlier words to understand what had so upset her. When Ana let out a wretched gasp and slapped his shoulder with one hand, a thought occurred to him.

"Ana, did you think when I said 'respect' that I meant I did not care for you?"

Ana struggled more strongly; Cullen knew he had hit a nerve.

"Ana," he said urgently, pushing her back so he could see her face. Ana lightly slapped his shoulder again, letting out a sob. "_Ana_, look at me!"

She shook her head; impatient, Cullen grasped her chin between his fingers and tugged. Ana inhaled sharply and met his eyes, her own crystalline with tears.

"That," he told her, "Is ridiculous. I care for you deeply, Ana. Far beyond that of a Commander who respects his Inquisitor."

Ana's lip trembled; she no longer fought against him, but her limp form spoke not of relaxation, but defeat. Cullen sighed.

"Ana, how could you not see how we all love you?" he asked, briefly glancing skyward as he fought his embarrassment. "You are far more to us than a Herald of Andraste – you are a woman of bone and flesh, with a heart we cherish dearly."

Ana laughed bitterly, sniffing. "Oh? Do you know the last time someone held me in their arms, Cullen?"

Cullen shook his head.

Ana's lip trembled violently; "Neither do I."

Cullen felt a sweep of emotion that briefly paralyzed him; without thinking, without hesitation, he crushed Ana to his chest, burying his face in her hair and kissing her scalp. She smelled wonderful; of white lilies and sweet mint, and he inhaled her scent while he held her, pouring his love into the embrace.

Time passed; in inches, in eons. Finally, when it seemed they would freeze in that position, Ana began to pull away. This time, Cullen let her. His heart was pounding; he wanted nothing more than to continue touching her. He forced his hands to remain still.

"Do you have a handkerchief?" Ana's hand was hovering over her nose, her voice muffled. Cullen produced one from his desk, his lips quirking.

"You've bled in front of me and you're worried I'll see your nose drippings?" he asked her dryly. Ana blew her nose, then grinned at him.

"I'm still a Trevelyan," she retorted. "We do not excrete in polite company."

Cullen laughed; Ana folded the handkerchief and pocketed it. "I'll have it washed by the laundry," she promised shyly.

"You could just give it to me," Cullen replied, smiling. "I've touched far worse than your snot."

Ana blushed; "Absolutely not." Cullen laughed again.

They paused, though this time the silence did not feel so delicate. Cullen cleared his throat.

"It's late," he told her gently, "You've had far more than a long day and you should get some rest."

Ana bit her lower lip; Cullen suppressed a groan. Maker forgive him for impure thoughts at a moment like this, but must she keep _doing _that?

"Cullen?" she squeaked, her voice unusually high.

"Yes?"

"Could I…." Ana stopped, pink-faced. "Stay with you?"

Cullen simultaneously felt a rush of heat so scalding he thought he might actually burn and a kind of dim horror that rendered him temporarily speechless. When he found his voice, it was husky and halting. "Ana," he said brusquely, "I…."

"Just so I'm not alone," she went on in a rush. "I don't think I could bear going back to my quarters by myself, my head full of thoughts. I'm not asking you for anything, I swear, just…."

Cullen considered it; he may be a soldier of the Divine, a man of the Maker, but even he could not maintain virtue with the woman of his desire sleeping in his bed. He compromised.

"I will accompany you to your quarters and remain on guard in the lounge," he told her, brooking no argument. "You must sleep, Ana." _And if I am alone with you anywhere _near _a bed sleep will be very difficult, if not impossible._

"That sounds perfect," Ana said, her tone relieved. Smiling, she took Cullen's hand, leading him to the door. Cullen stuttered.

"Why don't you lead the way?" he suggested. _Maker, is she actually trying to make it look like we're going to bed to the entire fortress?!_ "I'll keep up behind you."

Ana nodded and led him out onto the dark walkway. They followed it back into the heart of the keep, descending into the Great Hall where the door to Ana's bedroom waited for them.

The sitting room on the ground floor before the staircase leading up to Ana's bedroom was neat and warm. A fire's embers glowed in the hearth, and pillows had been laid at attractive angles along the settee.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Ana asked him with concern. "You've had a long day, too."

"I'll be fine," he assured her, making himself comfortable on the couch. "Now, please, go to bed."

Ana went to the staircase, her hand upon the rail, when she stopped and bit her lip again. Cullen suppressed a groan.

"You know," Ana said thoughtfully, turning back. _No, _Cullen thought_, and I don't want to._ Her expression boded ill for his noble intentions.

"It's bad luck to go to bed with no kiss," she said quietly. Cullen's throat constricted; for a moment, it felt like there was no air.

Slowly, her face shadowed, Ana approached Cullen as he laid there, his body completely stiff. Although every particle warned him to move away – _she's coming! Maker, run for it! _– he could not. He felt helpless to resist her and somewhat glad he did not have the willpower to turn from her lips.

Ana stopped at his side, then took a breath. Cullen closed his eyes tightly, hoping she could not see his terrified expression in the dim light, and waited. There was a rustle, the feeling of her body heat drawing closer, and then… softness, pressing against his forehead.

"Goodnight," her breath tickled his cheek as she withdrew, her tone nervous. Cullen's eyes popped open with disbelief as she walked away. When Ana mounted the first step, Cullen found his voice.

"Goodnight, Ana."

A few moments later, her door creaked shut and Cullen lay, wide awake, until the sun rose the next morning.

When Cullen stirred, his head felt mothy from lack of sleep. Grumbling to himself, he sat up and rubbed the stubble on his face; it was itchy. Deciding to go for a shave – and a nice, cold bath – Cullen opened the lounge door without thinking to go to his own quarters. Something bumped up in his way.

"Well, shave my chest and call me an elf."

Cullen looked down in horror into the grinning face of the storyteller himself; Varric Tethras. _Oh, Dear Maker, no._

"What are you doing, emerging from the Inquisitor's quarters – _rumpled _AND unshaven?" Varric looked sickeningly pleased, his grin widening with each passing moment.

"I …. I…."

As if on cue, Ana emerged, her hair smooth and buoyant.

"Good morning, Varric! Good morning, Cullen." The smile she spared for her commander glowed with warmth; Varric turned his laugh into a cough, and Cullen glared at him.

"Thank you again, Cullen," she murmured softly. Ana squeezed his hand, then patted Varric on the shoulder. "I should go talk to Josephine before breakfast."

As Ana went on her way, Varric raised an eyebrow at Cullen, who was still rooted to the spot with horror.

"So, let me get this straight," Varric said slowly. "You slept in the same vicinity as our beautiful Inquisitor, and you still didn't manage to get anywhere with her?"

Cullen reddened, more out of fury than anything else, and clenched a fist threateningly. Varric raised up both hands as if in surrender.

"Whoa! Whoa! Nevermind, forget I said anything. Your secret is safe with me. But let me say this," Varric turned to go, a grin playing irresistibly at his lips. "Only a man like you could pull off something that idiotic _and_ smooth, Curly. Now, for all our sakes, would you fucking _kiss her already_?" Varric rolled his eyes as if Cullen were hopeless, and went after Ana. Face burning, Cullen considered the thought, then grinned in spite of himself.

_Yes, _he decided, a distinct bounce in his step. _I think I will. _


End file.
